Tactical Force
by Theunknownsoldier321
Summary: When the girls got an easy mission to defeat Mojo that wanted a man... It suddenly got harder than before. Now they must take on Three Highly skilled teens that wanted the man dead. They are called; The Tactical Force. RXR


Story Board

Characters

The Tactical Force;

(Black) Atrum Venator (Latin~ Atrum means Black and Venator is Hunter)

(White) Bianco Guerriero (Italian~ Bianco is White and Guerriero is Warrior)

(Grey) Grau Attentäter (German~ Grau is Grey and Attentäter is Assassin)

Clothing:

(In operation): A 'TAC U' Combat Shirt, Cross draw Vest, ITS HPFU leggings, Black Tactical Boots, Black Recon Wrap around Face, Anti-Flash Black-Tinted goggles, Black Lightweight All purpose duty gloves, Black Beanie.

Street and Hero Form (Or Last resort):

Atrum: Black Hooded jumper with hood up, black beanie, black undershirt, Black fingerless gloves, Black Cargo pants, Black running shoes.

Bianco: Black Hooded jumper with hood up along a white stripe down the left hand side of the chest, White Beanie with Blood red Tribal printings, White undershirt, Black fingerless gloves, Black cargo pants with white tribal printing on right leg, black running shoes.

Grau: Black Hooded jumper with hood up along a grey 'V' from his left shoulder to right, Grey Beanie, Grey undershirt, black fingerless gloves, Black cargo pants, Black Running shoes.

Weapons:

Atrum: Two Kukri knives on back, handles on waist. A set of Kunai.

Bianco: Two Ninjat-o's on back and two daggers on waist. A set of Kunai.

Grau: A modern Tomahawk and a United Cutlery M48 Kommando Fighter Knife. A set of Kunai.

(In Operation)

Atrum: A Silenced Heckler & Koch MP7A1 with a holographic weapon sight, a 9x19mm Glock 19.

Bianco: A M4 Carbine with an Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight (ACOG), 9x19mm Beretta 92.

Grau: Mk 14 Enhanced Battle Rifle, 9x19mm Glock 19.

Chapter One: A New Light

"_Death is the last enemy: once we've got past that I think everything will be alright."  
-Alice Thomas Ellis_

What is a Private Military Company? A Private Military Company (PMC) or (private military or security companies) provides military and security services. These combatants are commonly known as mercenaries, though modern-day PMCs prefer to refer to their staff as security contractors, private military contractors or private security contractors, rather than as mercenaries, and refer to themselves as private military corporations,private military firms, private security providers or military service providers.

_Location: Krasnogorsk, Russia._

_Date: January 23rd 2012_

_Time: 2241 Hours (10:41pm)_

White flakes of icy snow fell over the urban-like settlement of Krasnogorsk. It was a dark winter; reaching temperatures below negative twelve, and little to no people were on the streets. An occasional car would be on the streets either heading to their respected homes or to the local bar. At a turn off, a small shadowy figure came around the corner to the main street. When a street light beamed on it, it revealed a young girl roughly the age of twelve.

She was covered in an oversize wooly cloak that reached to her knees; a pair of dark pair of jeans was barely seen behind the cloak. A pair of black Newark shoes reached to her knees. An aviator hat rested on her head, but platinum blonde hair reached half way of her back. Her shoulders where hunched as well as her back, trying to keep warm in the bitter wind. Her hands were under her armpits, saving them from frost bite.

The petite young girl just left her friends house after her friends parents began to argue. Although it was not the safest to go by yourself in the dark at a late time, but her house was only a block away so she would be fine. She never saw another shadow a few feet behind her. The Shadow closed the distance on her, reached around and clamed a hand on her mouth and one around the waist. The shadow then haled her into an empty alley way, this all happened before she even screamed.

"Horosho Horosho, Chto my imeyem zdes'?"(**Well Well, What do we have here?**) A gruff male voice cooed coolly. The girl squirmed under his vice-grip, desperate to free herself.

"Moj, kakoye molodoye krasivoye telo... YA ne mogu zhdat', chtoby razorit' Vas..." (**My, what a young beautiful body... I can't wait to ravage you...**) He lustfully added, snaking his hand up her coat to her breast. The girl wept, tears falling down her young face. She knew she was done for, she knew she was going to get raped, sh—

"Darousk Vargressa. Wanted for Forty five child rapes, all female. My my, you pissed off a lot of people…" A cold voice echoed in the ally in English. The man ceased his movement and looked around the alley. There was only a Dumpster and a fallen Trash can. He turned back and saw a figure. Standing at Five feet two inches, was a Male teen. Everything about him was black. A black beanie rested on his head as a recon cloth around his face, a black tactical shirt, a cross draw vest with the handle of a Glock in view, ITS HPFU leggings, Black Tactical Boots, black gloves where a long knife was in view; it was kukri. Long, sleek, polish to perfection and well kept.

"Who are you?" Darousk growled in fluent English, gripping his hostage tight. The girls eyes pleaded the black-clothed man to save her from this cruel fate. The said man slowly advanced towards them, with not a care in the world.

"Who _are _you?" The rapist yelled again, tossing the girl to the side. She hit the wall and slid down painfully, but her eyes followed the slowly-moving man. Darousk then pulled out his own pocket knife, causing the teen stopped and lifted his knife. All was still, only the wind was slowly blowing. Then, Darousk charged, knife rose for a stab. The boy didn't even move as the man charged towards him. When he got in reach, Darousk plunge down…

Only to pull short. Pain shot though his body. He coughed a mouth full of blood and glanced down and found the source of the pain. The kukri was lodged in his stomach, and going out from his back. He looked back up to the boys eyes. Two cold but dazzling sapphire blue eyes stared back. More blood dripped from Darousk mouth but managed to ask, "Who… Are… You…?"

The boy said nothing as he pulled out the knife, and slit the mans throat in one fluid slash. The man crumbled to the ground, dead to the world. The boy cleaned the blood off the blade on the mans arm sleeve and sheathed the kukri behind his back. A sigh escaped form the covered face and turned to the frozen girl against the wall.

"Are you ok?" He asked, walking to the girl. She didn't say anything and jumped into his arms, crying and saying "Spasibo!"(**Thank you**) over and over again. The boy didn't comfort her, just stood there with his arms to his side. The girl pulled away and looked at him. His eyes stared back but not with happiness, there was no emotion. She never saw him drawing the Glock. But when she did, it was aiming to her forehead.

_Bang!_

First rule; No Witnesses.

_Location: Sazamin, Velayat-e Badakhshan, Afghanistan._

_Date: February 14th 2012_

_Time: 2000hrs (8:00pm)_

The night sky made the town of Sazamin invisible from the distance, the perfect time to set I.E.D's for American soldiers or to do a weaponry trade. In the deserted streets, a two story building had its lights on. Outside of it were two Taliban soldiers armed with an AK47 and the other, a Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) Launcher. Inside, behind a desk, was a man. He was a squat fat man. His face was craggy; a fat nose with a mole growing on it, a long black shaggy beard. A turban held his sickly black hair. At his side was an AK74, ready for any conflict or any other problem. He was Abdul Rahman Zahed, A wanted Taliban Leader. A random Taliban walked in and began a conversation with him, unaware of outside.

A Black clothed person was laying prone on a rooftop opposite of Abdul's house. In its hand was an Mk 14 Enhanced Battle Rifle with an attached silencer. The man inserted a 10' round magazine and cocked the bolt back and lowered its face to the scope. His sights were the two guards. And with two squeezes of the trigger, they fell with identical holes in their eye. With that, he stood, shrugged on the rifle and advanced to the house. He pulled out the 9mm Glock 19 and cocked the slide back. When he got in front of the house, he kicked it open. Without time to register, he shot the two Taliban soldiers in the room and ran to the stairs.

Abdul heard the door breaking and the shots. The soldier in the room wielded his AK and swiftly walked to the door. As he opened it, he was soon shot in the head. A bloody mist exploded behind his head as he fell. Abdul picked up his shortened AK and aimed. The man entered and quickly popped a round in Abdul's shoulder. The man fell back into his chair, rifle flying across the room. Despite the pain, Abdul got to his knees and said, "Please, don't kill me. I'll give you anything!" He was silenced by a shot to the eye.

Second Rule: No Mercy.

_Location: Paris, France_

_Date: February 15th 2012_

_Time: 0810hrs (8:10am)_

Isaak Coudray sat at a café called _'café de flore'_ with a laptop on the coffee table and a latte on the side. H was five foot five inches, Grey eyes, with black short hair and a shaggy beard; a pair of dark blue jeans and a leather black coat along a pair of tennis shoes.

As he typed, he would take a sip from the hot latte but his eyes would never leave the screen. On screen, there were photos of random people with the dates that the photos were taken.

"Euh, Isaak Coudray?" A voice prided him from his work and looked to the direction. It was a beautiful blonde woman, and guessed about the age of twenty. With blonde hair, blue eyes and a light tan, she was almost a goddess. She was wearing a tight black shirt and a light grey knee skirt. On the shirt was her name tag; Fanette.

"Uh, oui?" He slowly asked. In her hands was a brown box with his name on a tag. This made him suspicious.

"Ceci est pour vous, il était sur le comptoir." (**This is for you, it was on the counter**.) She shyly responded, holding out the parcel.

"Ah, merci." He thanked and took the package. The girl gave a cute smile and walked back to the café, probably back to work he thought.

He shook his head and examined it. It was quite heavy for a little box, no bigger to hold a remote controlled car. The wrapping was brown and with the tag on the side. Out of curiosity, he grabbed the end of the flaps where the paper was connected.

_Click… _BANG!

The parcel exploded in his hands with a flash of red and white. The explosion was so big, it covered nearly the whole block with the fiery death. Bits of debris flicked everywhere and the others customers in the establishment were killed, as well as Issak.

At the corner of the street where the explosion came from, a hooded man turned slowly to the flames and said under its breath, "Rule three… No error."

_Location: Unknown_

_Date: Unknown_

_Time: Unknown_

"Is your mission completed, Bianco?" One Hooded teen asked the other. In the middle of a desert, there were only three people in the clearing. One was about five foot and was covered in black. He had a black hooded jumper with hood up, black beanie, Black fingerless gloves, Black Cargo pants and Black running shoes that sank in the cold sand. The next one was the same height, but with different clothes. He wore a black Hooded jumper with the hood up along a grey 'V' from his left shoulder to right, a Grey Beanie, black fingerless gloves, Black cargo pants and Black Running shoes. The last one that is named Bianco had the same height as the other two. He also wore a black hooded jumper with hood up along a white stripe down the left hand side of the chest, a White Beanie with Blood red Tribal printings, Black fingerless gloves, Black cargo pants with white tribal printing on right leg and black running shoes. And on their right breast was a Blood red print of "_TF_".

"Yes Atrum." Bianco replied. Atrum was the one with the all black clothes. His sapphire eyes switched to the person beside him; Grau.

"As well." He replied with no emotion.

"Understood, my mission was also a success." Atrum said to the two teens. They nodded in return. Bianco flicked his wrist out and clicks the watch. It was a F1 Carbon GMT Watch, used by their company. Its main purpose is for video feed, time, location and maps. It was blood red and black, blending with the color coded clothes. The watch flicked for a second before a hologram image appeared. It was a young man, reaching to the age of Twenty Three. His name was Alvaro Richmeier. With onyx eyes and oddly green spiky hair, he was the Leader of the army; Tactical Force. Tactical Force is a Private army created in the era of World War Two against the Germans. Though out the years, the course of the army has changed. For example, children who have just been born were taken to the 'Program' for the future of Tactical Force. At the age five when they can walk and talk, they would commence their training and learning. At the age of twelve, they would be sent for missions like Assassinations, Drug raids, Search and Destroy, Information Gathering etc. It's all kill, kill, kill…

"_Report, Atrum!_" Alvaro ordered though the hologram.

"Sir, missions Fifty Five, Ninety Nine and Eighty Eight completed sir." Atrum responded without hesitation. The man nodded his head.

"_Good work Tactical Force Sixty Two, await for another missizz—zias—zzz-zz!_" The hologram began to fizzle and crackle. This has never happened before they thought.

And the wind slowly began to pick up. Grau grabbed is Mk14 and cocked it.

"Something's coming." Grau whispered. Atrum pulled out his MP7 and Bianco, a M4 Carbine. The wind intensified in the following seconds. Their eyes flicked from left and right, scouting for any sign of movement. Then; Bianco saw it. Three white lights in the distance, about three click (Kilometers) in front.

"At front, three clicks!" Bianco ordered quietly. The sound of the guns turning as only heard. The lights got brighter and closer, but no noise. Atrum squinted his eyes to see the light clearly. There weren't the rotors of an Apache, or a hum from a C-130. Nothing. But it could be a…

"Predator Hellfire" He said quietly. Then yelled, "Scatter! Missile Inbound!"

They took off in different directions. But it was too late. Oddly though, the 'Hellfire' went to each teen, hitting them in the back with a flash. But no explosion.

Grau felt the 'Missile' hit him, but no pain nor no massive BANG. In fact, he felt… Better. He stooped and looked back to his team-mates. They didn't die; they just stood there, perplexed. They soon regrouped and stood in a triangle formation.

"What happened?" Bianco asked.

"I do not know." Atrum answered back, slipping away the MP7. When he did, he saw a glint of metal on his belt buckle. It was not the usual buckle. It was round, black with a large 'P' printed on it.

"What the?" He muttered, touching the giant P on his belt buckle. The others looked at their belts and saw the same thing.

"I don't understand, this is not on the uniform listing?" Grau mumbled, flicking the buckle.

BEEP BOOP!

Bianco flicked his watch and looked at the hologram.

"Destination, Bianco?" Atrum asked. Bianco absorbed the information and replied;

"New Townsville, Japan"


End file.
